


Let Him Dance

by Devilinthebox (princegrisejoie)



Category: Death Note
Genre: (actually it's pole dancer), (honestly i don't know how mild it is), Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Prompt Fill, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3460763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrisejoie/pseuds/Devilinthebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bags under L's eyes account for the nights he spends spiraling around a pole. He needs the money, and the job isn't half-bad. That is, if he could refrain himself from making enemies. But what's a handful of enemies when you have one kindred soul you never would have expected to meet in this life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Him Dance

**Author's Note:**

> My take on an anon prompt on tumblr. The prompt didn't include the horrible angst, I kindly apologise to anon if I stomped on your heart. So sorry. But then again, what a great prompt. Really anon you inspired me.  
> PROMPT: "L is a pole dancer/burlesque dancer at a shady club, but he's still the intelligent man we love. He has to take care of his three younger orphan brothers (MMN of course), and he works a job during the day (...) Light (a corrupt cop?) meets L when L's club is hardcore searched because of a suspected drug deal. His earnings for the night are confiscated because the cops think it's drug money, but it's really L's rent for the apartment"  
> I apologise for any legal incoherence but who cares?

You grow up thinking it’s easy. Easy to avoid, easy to notice. But it’s so hard. It takes courage you don’t have, you never had. Light remembers how it all started, of course. How could he forget the day he ceased to be Soichiro Yagami’s son to become one of the dishonorable men his father loathed? He remembers how it all began but since there is no going back, he doesn’t think about it. He convinces himself it’s always been like this, picture corruption as a beast with poisonous fangs; you cannot fight it without getting smeared. It’s a serpent, slithering around his neck, tighter and tighter every day.

It will smother him; Light doesn’t want this, never wanted this, but it’s too late now. Turning his back on all of them would be suicidal. And he is afraid to die.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

He has no one to impress anymore since the day a vulgar crook took his father away from him. So, it doesn’t really matter who he was before that.

Perhaps his father was the one smothering him, turning him into a principled man he never can be. Perhaps that incomplete person he sees in the wing mirror of the car was him all along.

Well, he can always re-invent himself.

He stares idly at the gloomy city landscape passing before his eyes. It’s even gloomier inside the car so he settles for the window.

The other cop’s voice snaps him out of his daydreaming.

 “They didn’t tell you about the raid? It’s routine, really. Some bar for queers. Looks like they’ve been very naughty if you see what I mean.”

Light doesn’t flinch at the homophobic slur because, really, he couldn’t turn the situation to his advantage if he protested. What’s the point of ruining a great day?

Today, he plays the role of the good cop. Perfect.

 

*

 

The only downside of this job is that they won’t let him cross-dress. L tried, several times, to convince the manager but apparently, this is not their policy at all and the clients would be frightened to see him in a dress. Not even heels are permitted, when they would greatly improve his balance on the pole.

L doesn’t agree with that, nor does he accept the latent bigotry behind these words. That’s rich, coming from a man who is a part-time drug dealer, to judge what is acceptable and what isn’t.

Then again, liars are the worst kind of people. That’s the only lesson he feels entitled to teach his brothers. The rest, they can figure out themselves. Mihael understands Dostoyevsky better than he does; Nate draws maps of the stars; Mail is learning Chinese. More importantly, they grow without a guiding light to look up to. Him? The only brightness in L lays in his mind. He lives in obscurity. So, he protects them the only way he knows how – wrapping them in darkness. But he thinks, sometimes, that every child needs a star to shine for him.

The image of Mihael passes through his mind as he casts a nasty glance at the club’s manager. It can never be threatening as Mihael’s though. He could intimidate a monster hiding under his bed. Perhaps that’s why he never feared them.

L doesn’t realise it, but his penetrating, invading looks are much more powerful. Perhaps even more so than the graceful movement of his legs spiraling around the pole.

It’s only 8pm and he wishes the day would end. He has only himself to blame – he has been too curious and now everyone at the bar sees him as a potential snitch.

”If you say anything, I’ll wipe that smirk off your face the hard way," his boss says. His words reek of an inflated self-confidence, like a lousy poker player.

He tightens his grip on L’s arm, in an effort to frighten him.

“As much as I appreciate a good fight, you are not a worthy adversary," he snarls. “Now some of us have a job to do.”

“Being a slut? That’s your job?”

“I’m a pole-dancer, remember? You hired me,” L answers, his voice cold, “I’m only a slut to people like you."

He jerks his arm away from the other man’s grip. Turns on his heels and says:

“But you’re the one in need of my talents.”

He’s still smiling to himself when someone knocks the door down. And all of that for the dramatic aspect of it, because the bar is half-empty.

 “Everyone stay where they are," a cop yells. He has been waiting to say that all his life and he’s finally getting his moment in the spotlight. L rolls his eyes, puts on a coat over his slinky dancing clothes.

It happens slower than in the movies. Light strides from the entrance to the main stage, not minding the side-long looks and the twisted mouths. He stands straight, chin-up, recreating the person he once thought he was.

Light scans the place, observes every customer, looking for the suitable person to interrogate. He has lost the perfect eyesight he had graduated with. He saw everything so clearly back then, when principles stood tall, majestic and proud, in his mind. But the mind is an independent realm, he remembers, and can be corrupted as well.

Everything has been rehearsed, L decides as he lays his eyes on the young man, except for that princely elegance. He looks interesting.

Perhaps he shares the sentiment because he advances on L first. 

L decides to take the initiative. “What are you doing here, boy?” he casts at him.

“My job. We have to search all of you.”

“They’re getting younger and younger," L says pensively. “May I ask you for something?”

Light folds his arms, averting L’s gaze, “You can, as long as you obey.”

“I want you to search me. I trust you, detective.”

They stare at each other in silence.

 “You don’t know me”

“It’s a feeling I have. Or maybe it’s just that my body is very attracted to yours. Who knows?” L coos, maintaining his expression deadpan.

 “I’m only interested in matters of the soul," Light counters.

“I take it you don’t want a lap dance, then?” L teases. He doesn’t expect that line to have satisfying results. Yet, even he can be wrong. He discerns a hint of frustration in Light’s eyes. It vanishes in a heartbeat, and Light regains his composure.

His coldness has left him, though. He even gives a cocky smile. “What makes you believe I’m interested?”

L decides to play the same game. “Wishful thinking, is all.”

Light glances about, makes sure that nobody watches them. Then, he crosses the space between them.

Unprepared and taken back by the attack, L finds himself unable to react. Light slides a hand in L’s pockets, takes hold of the money he lays his fingers on.

“I’ll be taking this," he whispers against L’s skin.

And just like that, he turns his back to L.

It feels surreal. Feelings come in ebbs and flows in his mind; sentiments he can’t quite grasp.

It doesn’t make sense. They only met once.

It’s the novelty of it all. L cannot fathom him – he is a riddle never solved, a problem never comprehended, an everlasting enigma. It’s so different from everything he’s ever felt. He didn’t know such intensity could be handled by the human heart. A heart. He will never doubt he has one.

Still, he has brothers to feed and debts to pay before he can sleep in somebody’s arms. He will get his money back.

He has no choice.

*

He gets Light Yagami to come to him. It’s surprisingly easy. Perhaps he has ensorcelled him, like a dark mage in a fairytale. He brings Yagami to mind and picture him in some princely attire, waltzing, his movements so entrancing and elegant, kings and queens stare in reverence.

This haunting thought has not quite left him when he motions Yagami to follow him backstage, in his poor excuse of a dressing room.

“That money” L starts as soon as he closes the door, “It has nothing to do with drugs”

Light stands still in the middle of the room, his eyes flickering against his will, from L to the few personal things he has left in the room. L discerns a glint of surprise laced with excitement in Light’s eyes as his glance crosses a black lipstick.

“Give me valuable information and I’ll consider giving it back”, Light says coldly. He crosses his arms.

“I have none,” L confesses.

Light sighs. “Then I’m wasting my time.”

He strides to the door, reaches for the handle – and feels L’s long fingers gripping his wrist.

“Wasn’t that clear enough for you? If you have nothing to tell me then – What are you doing?”

Light’s eyes fall on L, who’s kneeling.

He can’t look at him, it will only make it worse. It hits him - the horrifying realization that his emotions must be written plainly on his face. Light freezes, while his body responds to L’s hands unzipping his trousers.

“I’m not falling for it”, Light says, his voice turning weaker by the second.

“The Fall didn’t feel like that I’m sure. You’re not a virgin, you know how it feels. It’s salvation.”

“What are you saying?”, Light almost pants. “I never cared much about that –“

 “You want me. I remind you of everything you’re too afraid to be.”

Light shakes his head, tries not to enjoy it. “I couldn’t do what you do.”

“It means nothing to me. You’d be irresistible, spiraling around that pole.”

“You’re really going to do it?” Light says, and he closes his eyes, too aware that the slightest of L’s movements is racking his facade.

“It doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” Light hears himself protesting.

L stands up.

There is no making sense of this feeling – violence mingled with the purest admiration. L’s body is a temple Light wants to break into in the middle of night, not to sack or pillage it, no. He trespasses on it while it’s deserted, to be the only one praying in it.

Light’s body is acting on his own, some restless animal creeping in his mind is pulling the strings, a creature that looks just like him but is capable of sincerity in its cruelty.

Light grabs L’s wrist and pulls him closer, closer, until he has no choice but to stop because, sadly, they can’t merge into one single being.

None of the lines L’s hands trace have already been drawn. Some have tried, all failed – he’s better than everyone he ever let in. Light comes to regret letting anyone else touch him. For all he cares, he could be the last one.

L stands up slowly to face him. He locks his eyes on his – Light’s gorgeous almond-shaped eyes are screaming a truth he isn’t aware of.

Light opens his mouth slightly to say something. L seizes the opportunity to pull him into the kiss he demanded so touchingly. Their mouths meet and Light takes the time to appreciate it, breathes L’s strange sugary scent, tastes his lips and sucks it red.

Light runs his hands through L’s hair, relishing the softness of it. L trembles under Light’s fingertips, his body whispering all the words his mind is silencing. Light is nipping his neck, trying, perhaps, to cut him open. That low-key violence drags a long, desperate whimper out of his throat.

Neither of them intended to go that far. There is a sense of urgency in their movements, though – they couldn’t stop even if they tried. They have both hungered for this for so long, unaware of their loneliness, now wondering how they breathed with that terrible weight on their chest.

Everything feels simple, now. Living, and feeling, and even telling the truth for a minute. Perhaps it’s because time seems to have collapsed between them, Light thinks, drunk with L’s screams, with the unbearable carnality of him. There is no time, no future, no consequences.

Light doesn’t hesitate when L turns his back to him, pressing his body against the wall. A shiver travels down Light’s spine. L knows exactly what to offer, how to offer it; it’s as if they were born to do this.

It all happens in a daze; getting rid of their clothes (how tedious it is to unbutton a shirt with trembling fingers), preparing L’s body, and himself.

“I can’t believe it," Light whispers, his voice holding a distinct note of wonder that makes L’s back arch. And L responds with a flow of words; obscenities have a holy ring to them, and he says fuck me as he would intone a prayer.

His position notwithstanding, L is clearly calling the shots. Light’s body slams into L’s following the dancer’s rhythm. After all he knows better. Light gladly loses himself in L, unsure if he is filling him with something he always lacked, or emptying him from everything he didn’t need.

It’s doesn’t matter, none of this, when he feels L’s heartbeat from inside of him.

“Light, Light, Light, Light," he almost sings.

Other voices have uttered his name, but never like this. L is saying his true name; it’s spelled the same, but it sounds different.

*

There is an old, outmoded sofa in L’s dressing room. It’s quite small, but they don’t need the space, on the contrary. Light rests his head on L’s thighs, eyes scanning every muscle forged on the pole. He misses the proximity already.

“Is your name really L?” he asks, his voice sounding softer than he intended to.

L twists one, two, three strands of Light’s hair between his fingers. He does this so tenderly, it’s hard to believe how wild and demanding he has been, a while back. Light feels his heartbeat increasing in tempo at the thought of what they have just been doing. He wants to do it again. He’s never been eager to merge with someone before. It’s a very vivid feeling. The decisive proof that he is still alive.

“It’s not my real name," L states quietly, “Do you want it?”

He says this in a way that makes Light blush.

“I’d love to”

L lowers his head and drops two words in Light’s ear.

Light feels everything at once. It rushes through him, a wave of admiration, impossible devotion to someone he already loves – how is that possible? It crushes against every principle he pretended to believe in.

He pulls himself up, turn around on the sofa so his eyes are locked on the man who has just offered him his real name.

L’s hands make their way from Light’s waist to his neck while Light secures his position, straddling him. L is thinking of names too. His desires have always been diverse but it seems they all the same name now. He’s lucky; it’s such a beautiful name.

His fingers skim over Light’s refined features. He wants to scream at the time, good manners be damned, he wants to force it into stillness. Prevent him from passing. He has to stop, he just has to.

“It’s my turn to ask something,” L drawls.

Light nods, eyes still locked on his.

“I won’t lie," he says, soothing L’s fears, “Promise.”

“Did you ever feel that way with someone else?”

Silence descends again, engulfing them so tightly that Light can only hear L’s long fingers running through his hair.

“No. And I will never touch someone else if I can have you. Or even if I don’t. It would be like locking myself up in the waiting room for all eternity, waiting for you to come back”

L gives a faint smile that makes Light’s knees grow weak. He maintains his position.

His eyes fall on L’s body, available and so terribly angular. He wants to kiss him again, but before that -

 “All of this – it started because you called me. Did you intend to blackmail me so you’d get your money back?”

L holds his gaze unflinchingly. “You’re pretty _and_ clever. You’re right. It was the plan. But it wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

“How the mighty have fallen," Light comments. He buries his head in L’s neck, scratching it, feeling his pulse.

He only stops when L moans his name.

Then: “Apologise," Light orders.

“I apologise," L says in a breath, his voice quivering. He pulls Light closer, coiling his legs around his waist.

“I love this enthusiasm," Light whispers against his skin.

*

L demands they see each other at the bar. He has a duty towards his brothers not to leave them alone in the dark for too long.

Light agrees. Observing L slithering around the pole is foreplay. L senses each look lingering on his body – they come with an impossible shot of adrenaline. The audience thinks it’s for them, lips curling in satisfaction. They give him more money. Everyone’s winning here. 

It lasts for some time, their strange film, and none of them knows whether it’s romantic or erotic. Light is rough but talks of love afterwards; L does the opposite. It works.

Light feels something breaking free in him; L makes every inadmissible thought seem acceptable – at last. He can distinguish the horizon. His life is not a fatality anymore.

*

But L has many enemies; the cost of impertinence. He has nowhere to hide in this universe, no hiding place – Light feels like one, but it’s an illusion. In truth, he is alone, will die alone for the sins he committed. A sin is an offense to God; in this rotten, sickening underworld, God is the drug cartel he betrayed.

They’re going to kill him. That’s the long-term plan. He will escape as long as he can, but he doesn’t tend to shy away before the truth.

There is no point in telling Light.

It would rack him. He would fully expect their minds to find a clever way out. There isn’t. L would have figured it out, otherwise. He doesn’t want to die, to leave his brothers alone. Perhaps he will find a way to disappear – it’s like dying but in a less final fashion.

He is with Light that night. The lights are low and they’re chasing each other in the backstage corridors, smiling maliciously upon meeting the other’s eyes, teasing in-between stolen kisses.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here," Light says in a breath, trying futilely to escape L’s grip.

L is about to kiss him when a voice pries them away.

There are two men, one at each end of the corridor. In a heartbeat, L runs to the door of his dressing room, practically throws himself at it.

“It’s closed, Lawliet," one of the men says, “Even you can fail. That’s a shame for the pretty boy. I hope you gave a good last time with you”

Light looks up to L, tries to cross his gaze. He’s blenched.

It’s the first time he averts his look. Light feels L’s anguish more intensely than his own.

He is supposed to be protecting others. Light bites his lip. Forces himself to think.

They’re _trapped_. Terror mounts. Latching on to his mind, begging it to come up with a way out. There isn’t any but it hasn’t stopped him before. He would craft costumes out of rags, build heavens over the most grotesque ruins. Nothing could stand in his way.

It happens too fast for Light to hatch a plan.

“I’m not the slut here, Lawliet," a man announces, “And you’re not needed anymore”

Light’s eyes meet the handgun – he hates wielding those, his grip is not firm, however hard he tries, it trembles. But that’s not how you recognize a good detective, he remembers his father’s words, it’s honour. No, another word, one that penetrates his mind as he pushes L out of the path – _selflessness_.

Light has to do it, even if it contradicts his very nature.

There is nothing more beautiful than the sacrifice of a narcissist – glady drowning for something else than his reflection.

The shooter and his accomplice escape, yelling at each other. L and Light both fall down, the sound of their bodies meeting the ground echoing each other. It takes a minute for L to get up, a second to understand why Light doesn’t mirror his movement.

He falls on his knees, besides Light.

L’s slender fingers dig deep into Light’s waist. A wave of guilt coursing through his veins, paralyzing him.

L’s eyes flicker, looking for the hole in Light’s chest. L hears that distinctive sucking sound with each breath Light draws. And he finally sees it – the spot where the bullet went in, dark and burning. L knows all too well there is _nothing_ he can do at this point, but just this one time, he rejects reality.

“Light –“

The wound reeks of blood, of pain, of inexorability.

“Don’t ever stop dancing. If I got to see – that”, he articulates in-between long, painful gasps for air, “It’s fate. How did you say? Salvation – maybe.”

Light reaches that point where the pain has so completely engulfed him that he doesn’t mind it anymore – he focuses on L so he doesn’t hear death drawing closer, closer.

“The watch, please -”

He begs L to keep only the beautiful pieces of him. L understands that; his hand instinctively moves to Light’s wrist, his fingers pressing against his father’s watch.

Light feels the impossible euphoria of the dying man whose last hope has been fulfilled; L will keep the watch, he understands. He is afraid, but he prefers his last role to the other ones he played.

There is nothing rewarding in bringing a little peace to a young man who is terrified to die. Not when it’s someone you could have stayed with forever. Eternity has been so small, for the pair of them.

It takes a heartbeat to die; a blink of an eye, and he’s gone forever, one last name passing on his lips.

L bends over Light’s body, buries in head in his neck, skin against skin and finally, lets out a long-lasting, burning howl until his throat is dry. Then, he feels his own body crumble, screams of agony turn to sobs and desperate whimpers. L, who has relied upon the darkness, L of all people, is mourning the only light that ever shone for him.

L is panting, and pleading to every deity he ever read about. He has committed a terrible sin – he let a younger man die for him.

It’s the only sound that passes his lips. _Light, light, light_. Like a prayer.

Oh, and he looks so frightened, so fragile, his refined features painted in dim light.

“Light, _farewell._ See you on the other side” he whispers at once.

L has to close his eyelids so he doesn’t stare fearfully at the ceiling anymore.


End file.
